


Gunpowder Joe!

by AbsolXGuardian



Series: The Book Lays Open, There are Tales to be Told [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Early Season 2 (TMA), Gen, MAG 120 Eye Contact, MAG 55 Pest Control, Nightmares, PTSD, Sleep disorders, The Mechanisms was Jon's band, The Mechanisms!Jon, The Mechanisms!Jordan Kennedy, outsider pov, prescription drug dependency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolXGuardian/pseuds/AbsolXGuardian
Summary: Then: Gunpowder Joe (Jordan Kennedy) and Jonny D'Ville (Jonathan Sims), two members of the band The Mechanisms.Now: Jordan Kennedy, exterminator for the ECDC and Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute Jonathan Sims.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Jordan Kennedy
Series: The Book Lays Open, There are Tales to be Told [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700164
Comments: 24
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tim Ledsam (Gunpowder Tim) played Jordan Kennedy, so what if he was also a member of the Mechanisms? Basira plays Ashes O'Reliey herself, but they were too mutually embarrassed to ever bring it up when they've interacted so far. I've been wanting to write something using the "Jon was in the Mechanisms" idea, and this was an idea that doesn't lean into RPF territory.  
> This fic is almost entirely canon compliant, I just had to change a few lines at the beginning of the episode to make what I've already written work.

When Jordan Kennedy was let into the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute's Office, he was surprised that this "Head Archivist" was none other than his old friend and former band-mate Jonathan Sims.

"Jon?" He asked, still not fully believing it.

"Jordan?" Jon replied, equally incredulous.

"Jon what happened to you? You look like shit!" He really did. Jon's skin was pock-marked with round circular scars- like someone who'd had a series of individual cancerous moles removed. He knew that the Head Archivist and another employee were being attacked by the worms right when the CO2 fire suppression system was triggered, leaving them full of dead worms partially burrowed inside their skin. But he had no idea this was what they looked like.

"Oh this," Jon scratched at one of the scars by his jaw as if he was embarrassed, "that's from the worms. You know..."

"Do they hurt?"

"Well they used to. But now they're fine. But please, sit down-" Jon motioned to the chair on the other side of his crowded desk. Jordan hesitatingly sat down.

"Jon," Jordan continued, "it's not just that. Your hair has gray streaks in it. Gray! We're basically the same age. What kind of stress must you be under?"

"It- it's nothing. It's something that runs in my family,"

Jordan suspected that Jon was lying, but it wasn't like he could confront him on it.

"Still, you dropped off the map when we all graduated. I mean, I know the Mechanisms just dissolved after Jessica disappeared, but I've gotten emails, or at least Christmas cards, from everyone except for you. I didn't even know you worked at the Magnus Institute, let alone got promoted to Head Archivist."

"So you know Basira became a cop?" Jon said, strangely accusatory.

"Of course!" Jordan was baffled. "She decided she was going to become one when Jessica missing. You didn't notice she never finished her degree because she switched to forensic science classes? She enrolled in the Police Academy the week she left university."

"Oh," Jon glanced to the side, embarrassed.

"Rosie said that were the ECDC employee responsible for disposing of Jane Prentiss' body?" Jon continued. 

"Yeah. Honestly it was a bit weird. I'm in their pest control unit. We were responsible for removing all the worms and certifying the Institute was safe. Then my bosses gave me Prentiss' body, with instructions along the lines of 's _he's more parasite than human so get rid of her_ '. I guess maybe because I already worked on her case. But like, that's still a corpse. So I called crematoria until I found one willing to do it. I watched the whole thing, and then they handed me an urn of her ashes. I don't think the crematory operator was sure what she should do. I decided to try contact her next of kin. It felt like the right thing to do. But I couldn't find anyone still alive, and my higher-ups or the police never asked for it either. I probably should have sent it to a bio-hazard disposal site, but I mean, it's just ashes."

"So she's dead?"

"Yeah, of course."

Jon started rustling through his desk drawers, looking for something. After checking two of them, he looked up and found whatever he was searching for behind one of the stacks of paper. He looked confused and mumbled something Jordan couldn't make out. He brought the object to the center of the desk to reveal it was-

"A tape recorder?" Jordan asked, half confused and half upset.

"For recording your statement. I know it's weird, but that's archive policy."

Jordan had seen degraded wheels of tape a few times in basements or other archives during jobs. Surely a digital recording would be more reliable? Eh, Jon was a head archivist, so he had to know what he was doing. There had to be a good reason.

Jon almost pressed play on the recorder, but then he stopped. "Uh Jordan?"

"Yes?"

"When you make your statement, can- can you avoid mentioning that we know each-other?"

"Why, you embarrassed that you were part of a band in university?" Jordan teased.

"No it's about professional- yes yes I am embarrassed. Could you imagine if my coworkers found out? Look at me now-" Jon gestured to his tweed vest, and his whole person in general.

"Yeah that doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd sing," Jordan began to sing just quiet enough that it was unlikely someone outside of the office would hear, but still capturing the emotion Jon once sang with, "[ _Fire ‘til your guns are empty, ‘til your ammunition runs dry!_ If you’re finished playing at soldiers, you might have noticed we cannot die! I suggest you beat a fucking tactical retreat, or we’ll let slip the dogs of war and havoc cry!](https://youtu.be/8mHXEYHC1XI?t=97)"

"Don't remind me," Jon put his face up to his hand.

Jordan laughed at how uncomfortable his friend looked, then suddenly stopped when he realized Jon was being serious. "Alright, I won't...."

He paused long enough for Jon to figured out what he was about to say and then stare daggers at him.

"... _Jonny D'Vile_ ," Jordan's face broke out into a smile.

"Shut up, _Gunpowder Joe_ ," Jon retorted.

Jordan held up his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. And he was glad to see that Jon had let a small smile slip through as well.

Then Jon turned deadly serious again, more so then when Jordan was teasing him. There was also an air of solemnity to it. He turned on the tap recorder.

"Say it again," Jon began.

"Which part?" Although the small amount of frivolity in Jordan's voice now felt unsuitable for the situation.

"About Jane Prentiss being dead."

"Why?"

"Please," Jon sounded more weary and defeated than he ever had before. "Please just do it, so I can have it on tape."

"Jane Prentiss is dead."

"You’re sure? Completely?" Jon sounded desperate, like a man looking for a life raft. Jordan half-wanted to ask if he was well, mentally this time, but it was like some force kept him on topic.

"Yeah. I watched the incineration, like I said."

"And there were no… complications?" 

"Like… what?" Again, Jordan wanted to ask how Jon was coping with his near death experience, and again he was stopped.

"Surviving worms that escaped, uh, movement from the body during incineration," Jon seemed like he was going off some kind of list, becoming increasingly frantic as he went, "Noises from it, like screams or chanting; _weird feelings, like a thousand tiny crawling things are moving across your skin?_ "

"Wow!" Jordan exhaled. That was a lot to take in. "No, nothing like that. Just the smell, but, I mean, I’ll get to that. It went well. There was nothing left but the ashes I gave your friend. Which I shouldn't have, by the way, so keep it to yourself."

Of course. And thank you." Now Jon was starting to sound more like the friend Jordan knew.

"Sure."

"It’s been months, though. Why are you just looking to make your statement now?"

"It’s not really… it’s not just burning her body. I was also the one that was first called in to deal with the nest in her old apartment."

"Oh…" Jordan couldn't decode what Jon's expression meant. Worry for him? Jealously? Anger that Jordan hadn't told Jon when it happened. Well maybe if he knew Jon was working at the Magnus Institute, then he would have known to send an email like ' _Hey I had this kind of weird job yesterday. Want to talk about it over lunch?_ '

"Yeah," he replied, a bit sardonic, before continuing normally. "But there are a few things I’ve been thinking about, putting some pieces together, and I thought, well, you guys should probably know."

"Right," Jon said, quietly. Jordan could basically see the gears turning in his friend's head.

"Well, start from the beginning," Now Jon spoke confidentially and professionally, "Wherever you feel comfortable. Statement of Jordan Kennedy regarding…?"

"Several weird things I’ve found while working in pest control," Jordan was unsure what a suitable response was, but that seemed to do the trick for Jon,  
as he continued:

"Statement taken direct from subject, 3rd November, 2016.

Statement begins."

* * *

The tape recorder clicked off.

Jordan shook his head. He felt a bit like he was coming out of a trance. Or like when he just ended a performance and needed a few moments to let thoughts other than the set coming rushing back. It seemed like Jon was doing something similar.

"Hey Jon?" Jordan reached out to touch Jon's forearm, but flinched away.

"Sorry. Sorry." Jon absent-mindedly adjusted his glasses.

"It's fine. I was just thinking, I don't want to loose contact with you again. It would be nice if you could email me if anything develops regarding the Prentiss case, but also, we could just go out and do something. Ben and I have even joined another band. You probably have too big of a workload here to do something like that, but you could always watch us preform. My personal email is still the same as it always was."

"Hmm...maybe," Jon replied. But Jordan knew this was the kind of reply that meant _'I've already made up my mind as no, I just don't want to offend you, so here's a noncommittal answer_ '.

"Well I best be going," Jordan said, getting up to leave.

"Oh right," Jon had already began to write something down and was no longer paying attend to Jordan. "Bye."

* * *

"Who was that?"

Jon jumped in his seat and turned to see Elias standing behind him, having entered from the side door. It almost sounded like Elias was angry.   
No, that couldn't be right. Jon had to be imagining things.

"Oh that was just the ECDC man who burned Jane Prentiss' body," Jon swiveled his office chair to face Elias. 

"He was here to make a statement?" Elias sounded skeptical.

"Well he was previously involved in the Prentiss case. He was the one called in to deal with the 'wasp nest' that originally infected Prentiss. He was also  
involved in another strange job where he was assaulted by the alleged home-owner who didn't want the ants that had overwhelmed his- the home-owner's- house exterminated. When Jordan- that is, Mr. Kennedy, defended himself using a lighter, the burning man produced a strange rotting stench. Mr. Kennedy smelled the same stench when Prentiss' flat complex went up in flames and when he burned her body. It's all on this tape if you'd like to listen to it." Jon gestured to the tape recorder.

There was no reason for Jon to mention his speculations to Elias, his boss could connect the dots himself. He also declined to mention that Jordan had given Rosie Prentiss' ashes. He didn't want to reveal more information then he had to. In addition, Jordan had asked him to keep it a secret. Even if Elias didn't report Jordan and give the ashes to the ECDC to depose of, he'd likely at least take them to artifact storage.

"Were you previously antiquated with Mr. Kennedy?"

How did Elias know to ask something like that? Even though Jon didn't hear Elias entering, if he'd done so before Jordan had left, surely Jordan would have pointed it out. Did Elias hear it through the door? Jon would have to check how easy it was to make out conversations from the other side of that door.

"Oh well," Jon rubbed the back of his neck, "We were in a band together in a university."

"A band?" Elias sounded almost amused, under his normal constantly-formal voice.

"Yeah. It fell apart a bit before we all graduated."

"And you haven't spoken to him since then?"

"Yes," Why was Elias so interested in his social life? "Jordan got a humanities degree- art history, I think. But he never really knew what he wanted to do as a job. I'm surprised he went with exterminator."

"Very good," Elias replied, "I'll let you get back to your work then, Archivist." At that, Elias turned and left the way he came.

' _Very good?_ ' Jon was still processing that when he realized Elias had left. It probably meant nothing, just a way for him to end a conversation. Elias always talked a bit weird, but never in a way Jon could put his finger on.

Jon went back to finishing his list of what he'd need the assistants to look into, trying his hardest not to get distracted by thinking about his old band-mates. Let them live their normal lives.


	2. Interlude: The Exterminator Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The experiences of Jordan Kennedy regarding his ability to sleep after giving his statement to the Magnus Institute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I know I promised that I'd write the statement fic next, but I got to Eye Contact in my relisten and realized that anyone who gave a statement to Jon in person, regardless of his power level at that point, gets to see Jon in their dreams. It didn't feel right not to write Jordan's perspective for the dreams. It would work on its own, so that's why its an additional chapter to Gunpowder Joe.

Jordan Kennedy has had trouble sleeping. 

He's had trouble since last November, the night after he went to give his statement to the Magnus Institute. Sure, Jordan has had dreams about all those crawling ants or the man who self immolated in front of him since those events occurred. But those dreams were different from the new one. Somehow, this new reoccurring nightmare felt more solid. And it is always the same.

The first night, he didn't think much of it. Jordan had just retold his story and met his old friend Jon for the first time in years. Of course it would be on his mind, and Jon himself would feature. But then it happened the next week, the exact same dream. And then a few days later, again. When he had a nightmare, he couldn't, and would be too shaken to manage to fall asleep before it was time to start his day anyway. He relied on caffeine pills to cover the difference.

It reached the point where the anticipation and fear about whether or not Jordan would get a good nights sleep that night felt worse than the experience itself. He used the internet to teach himself how to lucid dream. It was easy for him to realize what was happening to him was a dream, it was always the same, no need to train himself to really look at clocks to see if they actually have numbers on them. But even when he knew it was a dream, he never managed to change the dream. And it still remained terrifying. Jordan also tried every single anti-nightmare trick he could find online, but there just seemed to be no correlation to them. He'd have nightmares when he stuck to his exercise schedule perfectly, and then none when work became too overwhelming and exercise fell by the wayside.

The nightmare never got too bad. Jordan was thankful that he wasn't running his own exterminator business anymore. He probably wouldn't have been able to handle managing finances, dealing with clients, and the actual exterminator work if he came in exhausted about once a week. And like most small businesses, Kennedy Pest Control was always one bad month away from going bankrupt.

But with the ECDC, all he had to do was focus on the pest control. Jordan even had enough coworkers that he could manage to avoid working on any jobs involving ants, or wasps, or maggots in exchange for covering for them on other jobs. Now he couldn't handle any of those jobs without his hands shaking, especially the day after a nightmare. Sure Jordan knew that he'd experienced several traumatic events, but he always thought he was lucky and made it out PTSD free. But once he went into give Jon his statement, that all changed.

At least the ECDC gave him enough sick days that he could take a day off when it was really bad. Besides, most of his work now involved analyzing reports and using his exterminator expertise to create action plans. It was office work, safe to do tired. He only had to do actual work when things were weird, too much for local public health officials to deal with, or when an embassy got infested.

Jordan's supervisor noticed his problems. All the days he came in with deep circles under his eyes and hands shaking because of caffeine. When she confronted Jordan at his performance review, he told her everything. Well there wasn't much to tell. She knew his history and was there when the ECDC cleaned up the Magnus Institute. He left out that it all started after he visited the Institute to give his statement, Jordan wasn't sure if he might have violated some NDA just by doing that.

The supervisor was understanding, apologizing that they hadn't noticed he was having problems. She set him up with a therapist, paid by the ECDC since at least some of the trauma occurred in the course of his work for the them. Once more, he was grateful for his employment at the ECDC. Even if he worked for some other private pest control company instead of being independent, they would have let him go by then instead of handing him the referral he held in his hands.

The therapy helped. With exposure therapy, eventually Jordan was able to once more do jobs with maggots, ants, and wasps. But nothing they tried helped make the night safer. Sure, he got some better coping mechanisms, but nothing stopped the nightmares. Just like when Jordan only had his exercise schedule and online health articles, there was no correlation between the quality of his mental health that day and if he'd have the nightmare when he closed his eyes.

In August, it got even worse. Jordan went from having the nightmare roughly once a week, to having it every single night. Now instead of fearing bugs, it was Jordan's bed that became the new symbol of his torment (and, as loathe as he was to admit it, Jon himself. By then, Jordan was glad his friend never contacted him and rekindled their friendship. He didn't know how he could have avoided letting his dreams change how he interacted with Jon).

Jordan had already been missing practices with Ben's band when they coincided with bad days. Once they had to drop him from a performance the night of, because he was too tired to play properly. He knew that they looked at him with pity, and behind his back, discussed kicking him for the sake of the band. Rather force them, especially Ben, to make the decision, he quit shortly after the constant nightmares began.

Jordan's therapist started him on anti-depressants as a sleep aid, but they weren't enough. And since he didn't seem have any _actual_ mental illness outside of his nightmare, they left him hazy the next day. They tried other, stronger sleeping pills. Any drug that didn't have vivid dreams as a side effect. The stronger they were, the more they helped. But Jordan still spent nights dreading what would happened as soon as consciousness faded from his grasp. His subconscious gripped to wakefulness like it was a cliff he was about to fall off. After a three night period where Jordan, despite his own best efforts, stayed awake through adrenaline and panic attacks, that his therapist finally relented and prescribed a benzodiazepine.

Those pills knocked Jordan out quickly, forced him into the nightmare. And kept him asleep the entire night. Jordan only woke up when the drug's grip lessened, his shirt sticking to his skin with fear sweet and his muscles sore from adrenaline overload. Between the sedatives and caffeine pills, Jordan managed to keep his head above water.

Jordan wondered, that if his boss never forced him to get a therapist, and the ECDC didn't pay for it, if he would have turned to a different kind of drug by now. Yes, he would had. He'd be a heroin junkie, drugged sleeps the only ones he could bare. Fear of withdrawal would drive his every action, rather than just something that prevented from staying up late.

His spittle-and-tape system wasn't great. His therapist made it clear Jordan was one wrong step away from being an addict. There was little room for anything else in his brain other then taking care of his needs, work, therapy, and watching TV he barely comprehended. But he was surviving.

Then, as suddenly as it began, six months later, the hell Jordan had found himself in had stopped. Instantly, it went from a nightmare each and every night, back to one around once a week. His therapist lauded it as progress, but Jordan felt that whatever had changed, it had nothing to do with him.

Jordan still relied on sleeping pills each night. The fear of going to bed was once again that of uncertainty. More like not wanting to place your hand in a box  
you didn't know the contents of, than not wanting to touch a hot stove. Jordan still needed caffeine in the morning, half out of dependency rather than need.

But on nights when Jordan didn't have his nightmare, he didn't feel like shit the next day. His work quality improved. He still couldn't stay out late or drink because of the benzodiazepine, but he made friends at work. He starting playing the guitar again and sort of rejoined Ben's band. Jordan still wasn't entirely reliable, so no gigs for him. But he could play in the recorded versions of their songs.

The nightmare that has haunted Jordan Kennedy for almost a year now, the unchanging horror that has awaited him, is as follows:

* * *

_It starts with the ants. There are more of them then there should be, ever should be. But they are here, in this basement. Or maybe it's a ground-level room._ _The walls fade into undefined darkness. It's not important. It's the ants that are important. They cover every surface that exists in this place. Both a_ _writhing horde, and single individual bugs. Sickly light shines off their black carapaces. They overwhelm Jordan, and he is forced to the ground._

_And he screams. Once, early on, Jordan tried not to scream. He knew it was a dream, that they couldn't hurt him. But that knowledge means nothing here. It can't_ _stop the pain of the mandibles that bite into his skin. It can't stop the pounding of his heart in his ears, nor can it stop the adrenaline from flooding h_ _is body. It cannot grant him the strength to force the ants off of him. He remains pinned by their countless multitude as they attempt to tear him away,_ _piece by piece, for the colony to feast upon, reducing him to the sludge that coated the floor._

_So he screams._

_And while he screams, he knows Jon watches him. He cannot see Jon. He must keep his eyes shut tight, lest an ant begin to feast on them. And even the eyes_ _were open, the blanket of ants that imprison him would block him._

_But Jon is there. He knows that. Jon stands there, his eyes closed, but his Eye opened. A single, spectral eye, in the middle of Jon's forehead takes in_ _the scene. And Jon understands want he sees. Jordan knows that._

_Each and every time, Jordan's struggles bare fruit. In a single desperate moment, his hand breaks through the writhing mass and reaches out towards Jon. His_ _screams of terror change to screams for help, but the words are drowned out by the scrambling of the ants. Jordan's friend doesn't move, doesn't reach out_ _a hand to save him. Maybe if he did, Jordan would be freed from this hell, forever._

_As the ants pull his arm back under, not even the knowledge that this is just a dream can completely erase the sting of betrayal Jordan feels as Jon just_ _stands there and_ watches _._

_But the sea of ants doesn't get to tear Jordan apart, for they always flee, leaving Jordan and Jon together alone. Jordan clutches his forearms to his chest_ _as he bleeds, tears of pain stinging his eyes._

_Then the room they are in, despite the floor being made of wood a second ago, is revealed to be a representation of a crematory. It rumbles, and glimpses_ _of flames can be seen behind the incinerator's door._

_A piercing wail, and the door is thrown open. A burning figure drags themselves out, crisp maggot corpses falling to the floor. The movement of living_ _worms can be seen under the woman's dead flesh._

_Jordan looks at the burning woman, who would kill him if she had the chance, and then back to Jon. Somehow, Jordan knows that this Jon is entirely to_ _blame for this part of the dream. The ants, they terrified Jordan when he first encountered them, but the disposal of Jane Prentiss' corpse was an oddity, and nothing_ _more to him. This is Jon's ghost, though the smell of burning rot reminds him of the man Jordan set on fire and the landlord's self-immolation._

_Jordan looks back to Jon. He doesn't know who he fears more._

_The burning hive takes staggering steps towards them both, her intent clear. There is no climax._ _He isn't going to jolt awake as the maggots begin to burrow into his skin. No, when she is halfway to them, Jordan registers Jon vanishing for a second, and_ _then the dream ends like ejecting a DVD from its player._

_Jordan's sleeping mind is granted the peacefulness of darkness, and the Archivist moves on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, there aren't actually any exterminators employed by the ECDC, so I made up what I thought Jordan's duties might be. I know that I probably leaned a bit too much into the American lack of social safety net with the stuff about the ECDC paying for Jordan's therapy, but what I do know about the NHS is that "things it should do" and "things it has the funding to do" can be very different. The ECDC was nice like that because they just comply with the Nordic model at all of their facilities to make things simpler, or something like that. I didn't do all the research I could have, but I didn't know where to look for the answers.
> 
> Anyway, I promise the statement fic will be next this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Jessica Law's (The Toy Soldier) "disappearance" is when Nikola killed her to steal her voice box. There's a good chance I'll write a fic about Jon realizing that soon. Ben is Ben Below (DrumBot Brian), since he and Tim Ledsam are actually starting a band with other people according to the Mechanisms website.  
> The stuff about Jordan being confused why he was the one responsible for cremating Prentiss is because I've never understood why the ECDC entrusted that to an exterminator.


End file.
